After The Barricades
by redthebloodofangrymen
Summary: Marius is not the only one who survives the barricades, Enjolras does as well, thanks to the actions of a captain in the National Guard. Whether he ever recovers physically and mentally though, is another question.
1. He Lives

The battle was over, it had been quick, but bloody, and now, all that remained was to clean up the mess that the rebels caused. Getting rid of the garbage they used to construct their barricade and gathering the bodies of the dead. The dead soldiers would be brought back to their families and the families of the rebels would have a few days to collect their bodies. Any bodies that were left would be thrown into one big grave. It was hard work and lot of time but Captain Therriot knew his duty and made no complaints.

He and one other man, a young soldier named Pierre, were moving through a building, collecting the bodies they found inside.

Therriot was in the process of examining the body of an elderly man who had been laid on a table when he heard a gasp of surprise.

"Sir, this one is still alive," the young soldier called over his shoulder to his captain, from where he knelt beside one of the rebels.

"That's impossible," the older man said, though he did leave the body of the old man and moved closer to see what his soldier was talking about.

"I know, but look," Pierre pointed his finger at the man's chest as it rose slightly as he took a ragged breath.

The captain just stared in astonishment. Kneeling down next to the soldier and the still alive rebel, he grabbed the rebel's wrist and felt for a pulse. It was faint and weak, but it was there.

"What do I do, sir?"

The captain wanted to tell his Pierre just to kill him, but he couldn't get the words out. "He's just a boy," he murmured.

"They all were."

"This one looks younger than the others; he can't be more than eighteen." The captain's voice was soft. Eighteen. That was how old his son had been when he died from an infection two years ago. Looking at the boy he felt a wave of disgust for the rebels. This is how they tried to overthrow the government, by getting children to die for them. Even so close to death there was something radiant about the boy's appearance, he was a handsome lad who ought to have been courting pretty girls not dying for someone's idiotic cause.

The soldier, not knowing how to respond, remained silent and stared at the blond-haired boy's face as he took another breath. After a moment he asked again, "What should I do?"

He could not order the death of the boy, not now, if there were still fighting it would be a different story, but now, that the fighting was done, it would be cold blooded murder. "We'll take him to a hospital, he might be able to tell us any plans the rebels had for other revolts," he said, reaching a decision. Honestly, he doubted the boy would know anything, but you never knew.

"Yes, sir." Pierre sounded oddly relieved. He killed a lot of men today, many who were either just a few years younger or a few years older than he was, and the thought of killing again made him want to throw up.

Picking up the boy, and ignoring the dead dark-haired man laying right next to him, the captain slowly stood. "I'll take him. You can return to your duties."

Pierre nodded, but Therriot did not see it, he had already began walking, his steps long and firm as he made his way toward the closest hospital

Reaching the hospital had not taken much time, but with every moment that passed the boy's condition seemed to worsen. He was still alive though. "I need someone to attend to this boy immediately!" He shouted as soon as he entered the hospital. Years of serving in the military meant that he knew how to give orders that got people's attention and obedience.

The order had hardly left his mouth when a number of people came running up to him and ushered him into a small room. Laying the boy onto the small bed in the room, he moved to the side as a doctor, who had followed him into the room, approached to look at the boy.

"He doesn't look so good," the doctor said. Other than that though, he remained silent as he started his examination. The examination was by no means quick and the results did not give the doctor much hope. Eight bullet wounds, none of them had hit anything vital, but he had lost a lot of blood and two of the bullets had gone through his right leg, shattering the bone. "I'm not sure if he'll survive. And if he does the chances of him ever being able to walk again are slim."

"Just do your best," Therriot said. "When there's been progress in either direction send a message to Captain Therriot."

"I'll do so and if you come looking for an update, ask for Matthieu." And with that the doctor immediately set to work.

Therriot had thought about staying for a moment, but he had other duties to do and could not waste any more of his time worry about one rebel boy. Quietly walking out of the room, he hurried back to the battlefield.

By the time he returned most everything was finished, the bodies of the dead lined up on the street. Therriot slowly strolled down the lines of the bodies, looking at each of the dead, first the soldiers then the rebels.

He was nearing the end of the bodies, standing in front of the body of the rebel they had found with the boy, when Pierre came running up to him.

"Sir," he called. "That boy, I think he might have been the leader."

"Impossible. How could someone that young be the leader of a revolt?"

"I don't know, sir. I'm just telling you what I heard. His name is Enjolras."

"And how did you find this out?"

"A man came here to look at the bodies; he said he owned a café where a number of the rebels spent a fair bit of time. He mentioned to me that he was surprised that he did not see the leader's body among the dead. I got him to describe the leader to me and the description sounded exactly like the boy."

"That's… interesting," the captain said slowly. "Once he wakes up, if he does, I guess we can ask him and find out for certain. If he was the leader he'll probably be able to tell us a lot of their plans and if he isn't, he should still be able to tell us something."

The two men conversed for a while longer, before separating and returning to their duties. Once finished with his, Therriot left the battlefield and returned to his house.

The house was fairly large, his parents had been rich, but it was empty, devoid of life, other than himself and a few servants. He had no siblings and his wife and only son had both died, leaving him alone in his house. It was a lonely life, but he had accepted it as his due and he was content. Except now all he could think of was how much he wished that he could share his house with another person. How he wished that he had a child to love and teach. And the face that accompanied each of these thoughts was the face of a blond-haired boy, who had been gravely injured.

"Stop it," the captain muttered to himself, "he's a traitor and a rebel." Not even those words though were enough to stop his thoughts.

Time was not enough either. As the days passed, no matter how hard he tried not to think of the boy, his thoughts kept turning back to him. Was he alright? Would he survive? Those thoughts plagued his mind night and day.


	2. Awakening

It was a week after the bloody battle, after taking the boy to the hospital, before Therriot finally received word on him. He had woken at seven in the morning, as was his custom, and was in the process of eating his morning meal when one of his servants, an elderly gentleman by the name of Alexandre entered the room.

"Monsieur, there is a man here to see you. He says he is a messenger from the hospital that you brought a patient to a few days ago."

It was easy to tell that Alexandre was confused as he relayed the message, which did not surprise Therriot; he had not told anyone about the boy. Partly because he was not sure if there was a point since he might not survive and partly because he had no idea what he was going to do with him if he did survive.

"Bring him in," Therriot commanded. As he watched the man leave to get the messenger a hundred different thoughts and emotions rushed through his head, the main ones worry and excitement.

He didn't have long to dwell on it though, for within a few minutes his servant once again entered his room, a boy, of about fourteen, following along behind.

"Good day, Monsieur," the lad said with a bow. "I have news of the man you brought to the hospital last week."

"As my servant has already told me," Therriot said voice tense. "Tell me the news."

"Yes, Monsieur, I'm sorry. The doctor told me to tell you that, it's now looking like he'll probably survive, but it'll be a while before he completely recovers. He's woken up a few times as well, but just for a few minutes at a time."

So, the boy would survive, that was enough to bring a smile to Therriot's face, even if his survival did mean that he would have to figure out what to do with him, which would be a huge headache. "Here," he said handing the boy a few coins. "Thank you for the news and I'll accompany you back to the hospital, I'd like to be there the next time he wakes."

"Of course, Monsieur."

Pushing aside his half eaten breakfast not the slightest bit hungry anymore, Therriot followed the boy back to the hospital. The entire walk he worried endlessly about what would happen. The boy was a rebel and that meant he would have to be questioned extensively, he might even be tried for treason, and killed. But, no, he would not let that happen, not to this boy. How he would be able to manage that would be a challenge but he would find a way.

Once they reached the hospital the boy gave him directions to the room where the blond-haired boy was, before scampering off to perform other duties.

Therriot made his way to the room and slowly opened the door to see the doctor standing over the boy. "I hear he is doing well."

"Ah, yes he is, Captain Therriot," the doctor replied. "He'll survive. I'm still not certain if he'll ever be able to walk again though and he'll have ugly scars on his stomach from where he was shot. He's doing a lot better than I thought he would be this soon, so he might surprise us, though."

Therriot nodded. He did not care if he could not walk or had scars, as long as the boy survived, he only hoped the boy would feel the same way. A lot of young people were very concerned about their appearance he had noticed and it devastated them to have something that flawed their looks.

He watched silently as the boy lay on the bed, asleep. At least Therriot thought he was sleeping, but as he watched the boy's eyes fluttered open, though he did not seem to see anything.

"Courfeyrac. Feuilly. Joly. Lesgles. Combeferre. Prouvaire. Bahorel. Grantaire. Gavroche. Marius." Each name was murmured softly and Therriot had to strain to make them out.

"Do you know any of those people?" Matthieu asked, glancing over at Therriot. "Those names are all I've ever heard him say. Occasionally he'll say Éponine as well, but not nearly as often as he says the others."

"I'm not sure who they are," Therriot admitted, all though if he had to take a guess, he'd say they were other rebels.

The boy's eyes were still open, though he had fallen silent again. Stepping closer to the bed, Therriot then knelt down so he was at eye level with the injured boy. "Can you hear me, boy?"

In response the boy squeezed his eyes shut for a few seconds, before opening them again. His eyes then slowly moved until they met Therriot's.

"Where… where am I?" he asked, voice faint and hoarse.

"A hospital, you've been badly injured, but you'll get better," Therriot said reassuringly. "Can you tell me your name, son?"

"Where are they?"

Matthieu's eyes widened slightly as he heard the boy speak. He had never responded to him or any of his assistants when they tried to speak to him and he shuffled closer, curious about his young patient.

"What's your name?" Therriot repeated, ignoring the boy's question. "I need to know."

"My friends, where are they?"

His voice was still faint, but there was a passion in it that Therriot wasn't used to hearing, especially in one so young. He did not allow that to distract him though. "I need your name."

For a long moment the boy did not say anything, his eyes closed and Therriot was beginning to think he had fallen asleep again, but his eyes slowly opened again and he answered, "I'm Enjolras."

Therriot felt his heart skip a beat when the boy said his name. According to Pierre, Enjolras was the name of the man who had led the rebels and if that were true, it would be a lot harder for him to find a way to keep him alive. The King would want his head, and rightly so, but despite his loyalty to his king, Therriot was not sure if he could allow this boy to come to harm.

"Where are they?" Enjolras repeated.

"They're dead," Therriot replied slightly distracted now.

"No, no," Enjolras protested weakly. His eyes quickly welled up with tears that started to roll down his cheeks, managing to make him look even younger.

Unable to watch the boy in his grief, Therriot turned his head away. He did not regret their deaths, the rebels deserved what they got, but he did regret this boy's pain.

"Ah, Captain Therriot, perhaps it would be best if you left for a while, he needs sleep and silence now," the doctor said firmly, making it clear that despite the words it was not a suggestion. He was glad that the boy had spoken, that showed that he really was recovering, but he did not need to be upset in this manner especially when he was still badly hurt, it would set back his recovery.

"Alright then, I'll come back tomorrow." It was a good excuse to leave so he no longer had to watch the boy in his grief.

With a polite nod to Matthieu, Therriot slowly stood, left the room and hurried home. Once back at his house he shut himself in a room and left orders with his servants that he was not to be disturbed.

Once in the room he collapsed into a chair and began rubbing his forehead. What was he going to do? The boy was a traitor, a revolutionist; he deserved to be put to death for his part in the rebellion and for the deaths of several soldiers, good men. He knew that, and in any other cases would have insisted that he be punished to the fullest extent for his actions, but the only thing he could see when he looked at Enjolras was his own son. If anything happened to him it would be like watching his boy die again and Therriot wasn't certain he could survive something like that again.

There had to be another solution. There had to be! But if there was, Therriot could not think of it.


End file.
